


Bury Your Secrets in My Skin

by orphan_account



Category: The Glass Scientists (Webcomic), The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson
Genre: Gen, Henry has a crisis, Spoilers, Suicide, this is the ending of the book from Jekyll's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 00:26:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19841695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He can still visualize the look on Hastie’s face, terror and rage and mourning for a dead friend all at once. Except Henry wasn’t dead, was he?





	Bury Your Secrets in My Skin

He can still visualize the look on Hastie’s face, terror and rage and mourning for a dead friend all at once. Except Henry wasn’t dead, was he? Maybe to Hastie he was long decayed and bloated, a blurred image of a once good man, but to society as a whole? Nothing had happened, and the famous Henry Jekyll was just as philanthropic and scientific as the day before. 

To Hastie he was a monster now, a chimera of bits of soul and serums glued together with alchemy. Maybe he had always seemed like that, underneath the surface? Perhaps that was why Hastie seemed to quick to rage with him, tossing insults like candies and allowing sneers of contempt to flow like the silks he would wear. Seeing it was just revealing what he always knew, and that was why he turned so quickly. That was why he screamed and threatened against a man begging on his knees for help, against his childhood friend. 

But by God he did beg. He cried and wailed like a confused child, all glazed eyes and quivering lips and endless tears. Genuine fear had gripped him, a fear of existentialism, and a fear of betrayal to oneself. He knew without a doubt Hyde would win. He had warned himself before even starting the experiments, that evil always wins against good. 

Musing what little time he had left, Henry tipped his chair back and stared at the gilded ceiling. Maybe once he was lost, and Hyde was found, Hastie would be willing to reconsider? Because even if evil won, Jekyll must’ve been the original sin incarnate. A devotion to knowledge with total folly, and a willingness to sacrifice whatever was needed to unveil the secrets of the universe. Even himself. A modern Frankenstein, Henry supposed. Playing God with the hubris of Lucifer, all like him would always feel the fall, and the flames encompass them once they went too far. 

It was about time he lost his wings, Henry supposed. He deserved it, according to all who knew Hyde. And he knew Hyde, knew him like he knew himself, for Hyde was him. Henry understood that now, something he was so terrified to acknowledge less he give power to it, despite watching as the opposite happened. What was once a controlled flight into freedom and sin spiraled into a free fall to the void below. His wings broken and bleeding, Henry had fallen right into Hyde’s web, only to allow himself to be consumed.   
It wasn’t fate that caused this, he was forced to concede. Him and Hastie both knew that too well. He did it to himself, deciding to play with a soul as if it was a toy, or a metal piece to melt and mold. Henry was at once filled with a suffocating rage, something as dark and corrupted as Hyde himself, yet completely natural. Cursing himself, Henry turned a dark glare from his seat to the innocent packages strewn across his bedroom desk. Something as simple as impure salt take Henry Jekyll down? Moronic at best and laughable at first, and yet. 

Here he sat, mourning his inevitable death and the death he knew Hastie would embrace gladly. He had seen the look in Hastie’s eyes before he fled, something unnatural and traumatized, and knew that none of his potions and pills would put him together again. Lying to himself and hoping him and Hyde could reconcile was a useless notion, but at this point what else was there to do? Henry knew his death was forthcoming, he had long ago written a letter to Gabriel in hopes Hyde would leave it alone, and he knew his servants would never abandon the manor.

Finally standing up, he gave himself a moment to enjoy the feeling of his blood rushing. What selfishness Henry had given such thoughts before! Always taking everything for granted, spoiled and self serving. A true Dorian Gray if he so applied it, taking and taking and ruining it all in a fit anyway. As he thought, he began to pace, focusing in on the feel of his muscles bunching and releasing, and the cells inside him releasing calcium. Would his cells change as well once Hyde took over? Or would his molecular makeup stay the same despite the unholiness he had fore taken. It was comforting to imagine at least a small part of him would stay in the world once he died.   
Trailing his hands over the satin of his bed sheets, and enjoying the glide against his burnt fingertips, he closed his eyes and inhaled. If his body died, would Hyde control it forever? Henry had created something so human and so monstrous that he could not even comprehend it dying. Immortal and unaging, Hyde was already thirty years younger than Henry physically, with just as much intelligence and education as Henry’s several years in neoalchemy allowed. 

Moving away slowly, Henry walked over to his scrambled desk. Papers had been scattered and crumpled in his desperate attempts to recreate the original HJ7 and hopefully gain back some control, only to result in disgusting concoctions and thick, inedible pastes. Even consuming the smallest amount of them would prove fatal, and yet. The thought was appealing in a way that terrified Henry to his core. To prevent Hyde from roaming free, to suffer no consequences of his actions, Henry began to understand why so many sought permanent relief, despite the church’s screams of blasphemy and sinning.

A daunting and heart wrenching idea began to bloom inside him, a chance he might have against the endless power of Hyde and his tortuous deeds. Could he bring himself to do it? Henry honestly did not know. Raking trembling hands through his red hair, he began pacing once again. More so than could he do, should he? Maybe there was a chance Hyde would lose the deadly battle between them? Yet even with the thought Henry knew he could not live with that outcome, evil always overcame, and if Henry won, the answer to who was who would be glaringly obvious. 

As anxiety gripped him, he clutched his chest as he began to sweat. By God, with the things he had done as Hyde, he would undoubtedly wind up in Hell! The fear of the reaper loomed behind him, clutching for his throat and choking him. He gently covered his mouth as he sobbed. Why was he even thinking about his death as if it was preventable? He chastised himself as he shook, Hyde was a wanted man, and at this point everyone in London knew his name and his face, and most importantly, the price above his head. 

No, Henry swore, if he had to die, let it be by his own God given hands. With shaky hands and a pale facade, the fallen angel began searching through his unorganized desk. Rooting through bottles labeled with scribbled Gaelic, and endless piles of scribbled notes and letters, he came across his goal. A small, glass vial, holding a clear and oily substance. One look at the labeling and Henry knew what he must do. Uncapping what would be discovered as cyanide, he chuckled moistly. He walked patiently back to his plush wing-back, settling in it and staring at his desk for a few shallow minutes, before gazing at the simple vial in his hand. As he brought it to his lips, he thought briefly of Hastie, and the hatred in his words, and of Gabriel. 

His sweet Gabriel, with too much love in his heart to hate. He had always seen the light through Henry’s shadows, and the intoxication of it all had Henry burying long dead secrets within Gabriel’s skin. He only hoped Poole would fine him long before Gabriel did, hoped Gabriel did his duty as a friend and lawyer and cared for Hastie, unknowing of what would be happening merely streets away. Steeling himself, he went through with it and swallowed the bitter liquid. The toxin seemingly sucked all the moisture out of his mouth, and burned in a way disgustingly similar to HJ7. Reclining, Henry tried to relax as he felt it settle in his stomach, breathing deeply as his stomach lit up in pain and his head began to pound. He wheezed as his heart began to palpitate, beginning to fear again as the poison took it’s due. 

Forcefully, Henry shoved himself against the back of his chair, his back arching in pain as his limbs trembled. Teeth chattering, he relished in the black spots he saw, knowing blissful unconsciousness would soon follow. Not quickly enough, everything began to fade, the corners of his sight blurring to grey and then encompassing black.


End file.
